Fathers and Children

Seeing fathers and children together during a tender moment has always made my eyes tear up and my heart swell with emotion. I feel happy that the child has such a nurturing male figure in their lives, grateful that there are caring people in this world, and blessed to be in the presence of a loving exchange between a father and his child. Yet, at the same time, I also feel some longing tug at my heart because I never had such a close and caring relationship with my own dad.

I’m thinking a lot about my dad these days because he’s going in for surgery soon. They’re putting a stent in his heart. A stent in a man-made tube that’s inserted in a passageway, an artery in his case, to keep the fluids flowing along.

 

At this point, I’m not really sure what to write. My parents divorced when I was three and I grew up without knowing him very well. When I did happen to see him I always wanted to leave right away. Throughout my whole life, he’d basically ignore me. He’d only say what was necessary which meant he was silent for much of the time. I was about 35 or so the first time he told me he was proud of me. So, he’s mostly been absent from my life until recently.

He moved nearby after my brother died. He only began telling me he loved me after my second brother died and he only says it at the end of our phone conversations. Maybe it’s his way of making up for lost time. And, it’s sad but, we’re not really any closer emotionally. He lives nearby but I don’t see him very often. Even though I’ve always wanted a supportive and nurturing relationship with my dad, I know that it won’t happen. It’s just not his way. In the face of his possible demise, the best I can hope for is an, “I love you,” from him. This is miles from how he used to treat me. The funny thing is, I’m okay with this.

He’s a reserved and very proper person. But lately, he has surprised me with some silliness. By the way, silliness is unheard of in his realm. I made dinner for my husband, my small child, my dad and myself. Sometimes just before we eat, we like to hold hands and say, “One, two, three…Blah, blah, bugga, bugga, boo!” I expected my dad not to say it because it’s goofy. Dad amazed us all by joining in. It makes me smile when I think about it. If this surgery doesn’t go well and he ends up dying, I’m going to think about the time that he said, “Blah, blah, bugga, bugga, boo!”